


No Mean Art

by Sarahtoo



Series: Phrack Fucking Friday [14]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Insomnia, Other, Sexual Fantasy, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2018-07-23 21:22:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7480614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phryne is having trouble getting to sleep after her visit to the prison in 1x01. She needs to distract herself.</p><p>Part of the SmitCoin Chronicles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "Sleeping is no mean art: for its sake one must stay awake all day." ~Friedrich Nietzsche

Phryne lay in the wide, soft hotel bed, wishing for sleep but unable to find it. She’d met with her sister’s murderer today. Looked him in the eye and told him that she’d do everything in her power to keep him behind bars until he died. She sighed, thinking of that moment when he’d realized that she was not going to be easily swayed. She rolled to lay on her side, a grimly satisfied smile stretching her lips as she thought about the stricken look on his face as she’d walked away. _The bastard._ He deserved every torment that could be visited upon him for what he’d done to Janey and those other girls. The smile fell away from her face. _Those poor girls. The man was a monster._

She shifted again, rolling to her back. This train of thought would never send her into sleep. Or if it did, she’d end up with nightmares. She knew herself well on that score. All right, then, time to divert her attention elsewhere.

With a soft, considering _hmmm_ , she slid her hands over her peach silk pajamas, loving the feel of the soft material. In this instance, however, she didn’t want them. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her pajama pants, pushing them down and off and dropping them to the floor beside the bed. Next, she sat up slightly to shimmy out of the top and toss it away as well, lying back against the smooth sheets in nothing but her skin.

She slid her hands up her sides to cup her breasts, playing with her nipples as she considered her options for the fantasy that would go with this release. _There’d been that lovely Italian on the ship, though I rather saw enough of him after the weeks of that journey. The handsome porter at the hotel? No, he was far too young—I liked the way he looked, and he was strong enough to have stamina, no doubt, but I’d be willing to bet he’d need instruction and I’m not in the mood for that tonight. That dancer, Sasha deLisse? He was handsome, definitely, with smooth muscles and naughty eyes._ She was intrigued by him, and she could think of several ways to find out whether he was Lydia’s lover, all of them ending in her own pleasure.

She slid one hand down her body as she considered Sasha’s good looks, fingers stroking her skin as she burrowed into the curly hair that crowned her mons. _Sasha really was handsome, but so was that policeman—Detective Inspector Jack Robinson._ She shivered a little as she pictured the inspector’s intense gaze and his unsmiling mouth. She imagined him as he had been standing behind the desk at the station that morning, teacup in hand. He’d been almost funny then, treating the taxi drivers with a sardonic humor that could be very affecting. _He could be a very handy contact in Melbourne. He looked rather fit, too, if restrained._ And the twinkle in his eye seemed to hint at something more interesting under his severe exterior.

Phryne’s fingers stroked down between her legs, drawing small circles around her clit as she pondered the dour inspector. _I wonder what he would look like if I were to get him out of his oh-so-professional suit?_ In her mind’s eye, she stripped him, filling in the details behind her closed eyes as she stroked herself.

_Broad shoulders, that was certain, and golden-hued skin. Trim hips and a flat belly. His trousers had been cut a little wider at the thigh—perhaps he was particularly muscular there?_

Her fingers swirled in the moisture her thoughts called forth, and the nearly naked inspector in her mind’s eye narrowed his eyes at her. _His hands had been quite large,_ she remembered, sliding two fingers inside her body. _I wonder what that means for his cock?_ She imagined him sliding off his smalls, his cock springing forth, hard and long, with a slight upward curve and a reddened head that glistened with his own excretions.

Pulling one knee up, Phryne slid her other hand down to join the first between her legs. She began a press-and-flick motion with those fingers against her clit as she pushed a third finger inside her body, pumping in and out and imagining that her fingers were the inspector’s cock. Her back arched as she neared her peak, both hands speeding up as her tension built.

In her mind, the naked inspector gazed at her as he worked his cock inside her body, his eyes hot and his mouth quirking at the corners in a hard-won smile. He pressed his hands to the bed beside her, the motion of his body causing his hair to come free of his pomade to fall rakishly onto his forehead.

_“I plan to make this town less dangerous, Miss Fisher,” he growled, even as he pressed himself into her, his pelvis compressing her clit._

His deep voice echoed in her ears and with a cry, Phryne’s muscles spasmed with release. Panting, she slid her fingers out of her body; the fingers on her clit petted gently, sending shocking echoes of pleasure through her as her breathing calmed.

With a small laugh, Phryne stretched languorously, her muscles now pleasantly tired. What an… obliging man that inspector was. Perhaps she’d see whether he was as skilled in reality as he had been in her imagination. But that was a plan for another day—for now, she was thankful to feel her eyelids drooping. Sighing, she rolled to gather one of the soft pillows to her breast and closed her eyes.

Melbourne was proving to have even more to offer than she’d originally thought. As she dropped off to sleep, she mused, _well, he may not be able to change the laws for me, but it could be fun trying to find ways around them._


	2. Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne had her turn - now it's Jack's.
> 
> This PFF story has been sitting in my WIP folder since I wrote the first chapter, but it required a full rewrite to get it to a state I was happy with. And since I'm rather lazy, it took a while to get up the motivation to do the work. I hope you're happy with the results too!
> 
> Thanks, as always, to Fire_Sign, who is a fantastic beta! Any mistakes left are mine.

Wanking had become a rather commonplace pastime for Jack Robinson since his wife had left him. It helped to relax him enough to sleep, and since the alternative was whiskey (and he had yet to grow hair on his palms as his Nan had always warned he would), he thought that it was the better option.

He generally preferred to rub himself off in a rather utilitarian way—in the shower or over the toilet, treating it as just a way to release tension, like a long bike ride or an hour spent in the police gym. It was a rare night when he needed to accompany the physical sensation with a fantasy, but they did happen. When the urge hit, he preferred not to think of real women; it made him uncomfortable to picture someone that he might actually meet, ever since that one time when he’d spent a delightful night with a make-believe Rosie after he’d left her at her door for the evening. When he’d seen her the next day, he’d been unable to control his blushes, his mind flashing to what he’d imagined that had brought him so much pleasure. So these days, he’d create a fictional woman to pleasure with pretend shagging.

On this night, he’d tried to work himself out in the shower, but to no avail. So he’d retreated to his bed to build a fantasy to help him release. But creating a woman who wasn’t real had been more difficult than he’d expected. Every woman he created, no matter what she looked like, changed into a willowy beauty with bobbed black hair, blue eyes, and red lips that made him think of kissing, among other things.

The Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher. All day, he’d been unable to keep his mind off of her, the infuriatingly beautiful woman he’d met in the Andrews’ lavatory that morning. She’d worn a gauzy dress that ghosted over her skin, and her bare shoulders and upper back had been like alabaster as she’d swirled around and past him, dancing around his constable (and himself, if he was honest) with her strikingly on-point assessment of the crime scene. There had been a stripe of red that detailed her skirt, arching up as if to draw attention to the tops of her thighs—Jack had very definitely noticed that part of her body, and it had been all he could do to keep his face stoic.

And her scent! A fragrant cloud of French perfume had surrounded her—and him when she’d ducked under his arm—and when she’d tried to fool him into thinking her harmless, he’d caught the waxy smell of freshly applied lipstick, which had made him look at her lips again. They had been the same red as that stripe at her thighs, and he’d found himself wondering whether the color would smear.

With a soft curse, he laid his palm over his hardening cock beneath the bedcovers; it tented the soft cotton of his worn pajamas, and he gently fisted it through the material, drawing the fabric snugly against his crown. He wasn’t going to be able to get away from her presence, it seemed, so he might as well make the best of it. Having made the decision, he could admit to a trickle of relief; he could stop fighting his subconscious. 

His eyes fluttered closed, and he allowed himself to picture her. Those bright, intelligent eyes, the high cheekbones, and that red, red mouth. _God, her mouth!_ With a grunt, he undid the drawstring of his pajama bottoms and slid both hands inside, pushing the fabric underneath his balls as he cupped them in one hand and began to pump himself with the other, his thumb swiping across his dampened cockhead with each stroke. In a moment, he was back in that bathroom, and Collins had mysteriously gone. 

_When she looked up at him with that so-innocent batting of eyes, he stepped forward, slipping a hand around the back of her neck and covering her mouth with his. Her tongue slid between his lips, and he groaned deep in his chest, the sound echoing around his darkened bedroom._

_“Why, inspector,” she gasped when he lifted his head, “this is a crime scene.”_

Just the fact that she had known it was important not to contaminate a crime scene turned Jack on. He found smart women particularly attractive, and that this one was smart in his chosen field, well... His hand on his cock sped up, and he squeezed himself a little harder, feeling the ache in his balls growing. 

_“I’m certain that we can keep from contaminating the scene,” imaginary-Jack said. “We’ll just have to be sure not to leave any evidence.”_

_“What did you have in mind?” She purred, her hands sliding lightly up to grasp his lapels, even as she arched into him, pressing her pelvis against his._

_He stepped forward, closing the lavatory door behind them; she moved with him easily, and in three steps he heard her hiss as the skin of her shoulders hit the cool tile on the wall._

_“I thought we could just stay over here,” he murmured, his hand dropping to her hip to pull her closer, his cock hard against the softness of her belly._

_“Mmm,” she said, before kissing him again. This time, Jack’s tongue slipped into her mouth. When she pushed against him, he moved, his shoulder rolling across the tiles until she was in front of him. “I think that’s a grand idea,” she murmured against his lips._

_He kissed her again, his mouth devouring hers, the taste of wax and woman rich in his mouth. When he felt her hands on the fastenings of his trousers, he lifted his head again._

_“We need to stay neat, inspector,” she said, and he felt the soft fabric of her gloves against the heated skin of his cock._

Jack’s hand on his erection moved more quickly. The idea of that woman deigning to touch a lowly copper was ridiculous, and yet it was as if those imaginary kisses embedded her taste in his mouth, as if he could feel the satin of her gloves against his very real cock.

_“I think this needs a covering of some kind,” she murmured, glancing down. Jack followed her gaze, and the sight of her white-glove-covered hand wrapped around his erect flesh made him suck in a breath. “Hold that thought, inspector.” Releasing him, she stepped delicately over the outline of the dead man and opened the cabinet against the wall. When she closed the cabinet door and turned back to him, she held a small, square packet in her hand. “Thank goodness Lydia believes in family planning.”_

_He stood frozen against the wall as she sauntered back to him, unwrapping the condom as she went._

_“Let’s get this—and then me—on you, shall we?”_

In his lonely bed, Jack felt a moment of surprise. Usually, he was the aggressor in these fantasies, but that didn’t seem right with this woman. She had too much self-confidence to want to let him lead all the time. He found the idea stimulating, he had to admit—he’d met sexually aggressive women before, of course, but something about her approach called to him.

_Jack braced himself against the wall as Miss Fisher rolled the condom down his length, then lifted the front of her skirt._

_“Lift me?” She said, her voice breathless._

_“My pleasure,” he replied._

_He set his hands on her hips; with a small jump, she wrapped one arm around his neck and her legs around his waist. Her other hand pulled the gusset of her knickers to one side, and Jack felt—though her dress kept him from seeing—the wet heat of her sex slide along his cock. Even muted by the condom, the sensation was exquisite. When she positioned his head at her opening and pushed, he groaned aloud._

_“Shhhh, inspector,” she whispered, tension in her voice. “We mustn’t let on about what we’re doing.”_

_“Then,” he said, rolling them along the wall again so that her shoulders rested against the tile once more, “there must be a way to muffle our voices.”_

_She licked her lips. “Definitely,” she whispered, and kissed him, even as he began to move inside her._

Jack’s hand on his cock was pulling hard and fast now, and he arched his neck as the pleasurable sensations shot through him. With a soft curse, he released his balls and reached for the bedside table. Drawing a handkerchief out of the drawer, he laid it on his stomach and slid his fingers back to where they’d been, feeling himself drawing tighter in anticipation of orgasm.

_Jack’s hips rocked against hers, and the sensation of heat and wetness surrounding his hardness was perfect._

It had been a while since he’d actually been with a woman—not since Rosie had left him almost three years before, in fact. Other women had expressed interest, but he hadn’t been interested in return. Now, though, the memory of how it felt to penetrate a woman’s body was enough to ratchet his arousal higher, until his hand was flying along his length and the sound of skin clapping against skin was loud in the room.

_She lifted her other arm to wrap both around his neck, pulling him close as she kissed him. He could feel the pointed tips of her nipples against his chest, even through the many layers that separated their bodies. He wondered what they would feel like against his tongue, but he was too busy fucking her to find out._

_Sliding a hand down between their bodies, Jack pushed his fingers through the crinkly hair at the top of her thighs, searching in the slick wetness of her sex for her sweet spot. Finding it, he added pressure and motion there to the pumping of his hips._

_He heard her sharp cry of release echo inside his mouth as she came, her body shaking and the muscles of her passage rippling along his cock. With a shout of his own, Jack thrust once more and held himself inside her as his orgasm peaked._

Jack came with a groan, barely snatching up the handkerchief in time to contain his release. His stomach muscles clenched, pulling his head and shoulders up from the pillows as his muscles spasmed. His hand continued to stroke as the pulses went on and on; when they finally ceased, he lay in bed, his chest heaving as he tried to regain his breath, his muscles enervated.

After a few moments, he blew out a shaky breath and refastened his pajama trousers before getting out of bed to rinse out the handkerchief. Leaning over the sink when he was finished, he splashed some cool water on his face, then straightened to meet his own eyes in the mirror. He had no idea what he’d say, should he happen to see Miss Fisher again. If he was lucky, he’d hear her coming. He wouldn’t want to embarrass himself, so he needed a plan.

_“Good,” she said, her tone slyly flirtatious, “I do like a man with a plan.”_

His mouth quirked sideways as her voice echoed in his mind, and he stood up to make his way back to bed. He lay down, comfortably weary now, and closed his eyes. He supposed it wouldn’t do to leave his fantasy in such an unfinished state. It was hardly gentlemanly.

_He raised his head to meet her eyes, heavy lidded with pleasure. Her lips, the red lipstick smeared around them, curved in a smile._

_“I had no idea how much of a pleasure it would be to work with the Victoria Police,” she murmured, her hands in his hair—when had she put them there?—sliding to his shoulders._

_“I appreciate your cooperation, Miss Fisher,” he said through a smile of his own. He stepped back, turning to dispose of the condom in the lavatory trash bin, pausing for a moment to tuck himself away. When he turned back to her, she had smoothed down her skirts and cleaned her face. She met his eyes in the mirror as she withdrew a lipstick tube from her small handbag and reapplied that bright red hue. Capping the lipstick and dropping it back into her handbag, she moved toward him to rest a hand on his chest._

_“Thank you for a lovely interlude, inspector,” she said with a smirk. “Perhaps we can do it again sometime.”_

_“I like the sound of that, Miss Fisher,” he replied. “Though perhaps next time, we could skip the murder?”_

_“Now where’s the fun in that?” She quipped, before twirling to leave the room. Turning back to him as she closed the door, she whispered, “You might want to… freshen up a bit before you call your constable in.” She gestured at her mouth with one finger, then, with a wink, she was gone._

_Jack stepped over to the mirror and blinked at his messy hair and the smears of red lipstick on his face. He rather thought the color suited him._

As he finished the story in his mind, he couldn’t help but think that a woman like that would certainly make Melbourne a more interesting place. And maybe, if he saw her again, he’d get another chance to feel the attraction he’d read in her eyes. It was a good feeling, attraction; he’d forgotten. He was still married, but also still a man; someday, he’d have a chance to see where attraction led him. Yawning, he let himself drift into sleep. It was even possible that Miss Fisher would still be in Melbourne when he was free. 


End file.
